


Coach 4

by grey853



Series: Coach [4]
Category: Queer As Folk - US, the Early Years
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, References to Child Abuse, References to Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/grey853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complications occur when someone starts a rumor about the coach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coach 4

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: There is no sex between Brian and Michael, but there  
> is explicit discussion of underage sex and Brian's relationship  
> with his coach.

**Coach 4**  
by Grey  
[Grey853@aol.com](mailto:Grey853@aol.com?subject=Coach%204)

* * *

Brian stared at the substitute and frowned, the coach's absence unexpected and worrisome. Half the class worked out on the floor while Brian's half sat back on the bleachers goofing off. He leaned over and nudged Michael. "Wonder what the deal is with Daniels." 

"Eddie Clark said he heard he was on personal leave." 

"How come?" 

Michael shrugged and sat back. "Don't know." 

"Daniels is never absent." 

"Maybe something happened. Maybe his mom died. Teachers have parents, too." 

"Jesus, Mikey, think the fucking worst." 

"I was just saying..." 

"I know what you were saying. Shut the fuck up." 

Turning away, his arms crossed, Michael kept his voice soft. "What's wrong? Did something happen with Daniels?" 

Brian leaned in, angry. "I said shut the fuck up, Michael." 

As he hissed out the words another voice interrupted. "Brian Kinney?" 

Glancing up from his friend, Brian saw Assistant Principal Sanders at the foot of the bleachers looking in his direction. His gut clenched as he put on a calm front to answer. "Yeah?" 

"Get dressed and come with me." 

"Why?" 

"Just do it, Kinney." 

"Am I in trouble?" 

Sanders shook his head, his body tense, his movements nervous as he checked his watch. "You're not in trouble. Just get dressed. They want you in the office." 

Unsettled, all the students watching, Brian stood up and tapped Michael on the shoulder. "Meet me out front after school, okay?" 

"Sure." 

His skin flushed, Brian played off his own tension and headed to the locker room, taking his time to dress. Sanders stayed close and silent. As soon as he closed the door to his locker, the assistant principal reached for Brian's gym bag. "I'll get that." 

Snatching it back, Brian shook his head. "I've got it." They headed out through the gym, once again the eyes of the other students scrutinizing his moves as Sanders escorted him out to the hallway. As they walked, Brian kept his voice even and his eyes straight ahead. "I didn't do anything." 

"Nobody said you did." 

"Then what's going on?" 

"Principal James wants to talk to you about something." 

"What?" 

"He'll tell you when you get there." 

"But why can't you tell me?" 

Struggling to be patient, Sanders shook his head. "It's private. You'll just have to wait." 

Still worried, Brian entered the main office and followed Sanders to the back where Principal James waited. Beside him stood his counselor Mrs. Jacobs and a stranger, a large man too serious to be anybody he wanted to know. Mr. James spoke first. "Sit down, Brian." Brian carefully placed his gym bag on the floor beside the chair and sat down as Sanders left the room and closed the door. "Brian, this is Detective Johnson. He needs to ask you some questions. I want you to be truthful." 

His throat dry, Brian wanted to leave, but stayed perfectly still, his breathing a little faster. Detective Johnson moved from behind the desk to the chair beside him. "Brian, I need to ask you about Coach Daniels." 

The words echoed, his world vibrating and closing in as he gripped the armrests more securely. His own voice sounded distant. "What about him?" 

"What's your relationship with the Coach?" 

Feigning confusion, Brian looked first at the principal and then his counselor. "Is the coach in trouble?" 

Johnson persisted. "Has he ever touched you?" 

"Touched me? You mean like patted my shoulder or something?" 

"No, Brian, Detective Johnson doesn't mean that." Mrs. Jacobs stepped closer, her hands clasped together, her voice softer than normal. "He means has the coach ever touched you inappropriately?" 

"Inappropriately?" Brian swallowed hard and shook his head, his eyes focused on his own hands. "No way. He's a good coach. He wouldn't do that." 

The cop kept at him. "Are you sure?" 

Johnson reached for his shoulder and Brain jerked away, suddenly defensive. "Fuck yeah, I'm sure. I told you, he wouldn't fucking do that." 

Principal James practically tutted. "Mr. Kinney, watch the language please." 

"Then watch what you say about the coach. I mean, why would you think he's some kind of pervert?" 

While Mrs. Jacobs returned to stand by the desk, Johnson answered the question. "We got a call about the coach and your name was mentioned." 

Swallowing hard, Brian flashed on Jackson, his dark, sleek body beneath him, his plea to keep quiet about their fucking ringing in his mind. Fuck. "Why would someone do that?" 

"You tell me, Brian. Why would someone make up something like this about you and the coach unless it were true?" The cop stared at him, his dark brown eyes grim and intent. 

"I don't know, detective, unless someone was pissed about the coach failing him or something." 

"I never said it was a him." 

His face flushed, Brian shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's a lie." Glancing up at the principal, Brian's eyes narrowed. "Is this why the coach isn't here, because some asshole's trying to get him in trouble?" 

Obviously uncomfortable, James couldn't meet his eyes. "Coach Daniels is taking a leave of absence for personal reasons I can't discuss. This second situation has just come to our attention." 

Johnson picked up the conversation. "We can't ignore any information that relates to abuse, Brian." 

"You're wasting your time." 

"We should call your parents." 

"About what? This is stupid. Nothing happened." 

Mrs. Jacobs picked up before Johnson could speak again. "We're worried about you, Brian. If the coach did something, you need to tell us so we can help you and your parents need to be aware of what's going on." 

Standing for the first time, Brian's anger shook his whole body. "This is crazy. You'll just get my mom upset over nothing. Coach Daniels is a great guy. He wants me to run track. He didn't do anything wrong. Whoever called you is a fucking liar, and I'll swear to that." 

"Sit down, Brian. There's no need to be upset." 

The principal's voice only pissed him off more. "No reason to be upset? You're trying to crucify the only teacher in the school worth shit and using me to do it. How the fuck am I supposed to feel?" 

Johnson stood up beside him and motioned to the chair, careful not to touch him again. "Sit down, Brian. We're not here to crucify anybody." 

Reluctantly, Brian slumped down in the chair, his mind spinning, his world hard to focus. He did this, fucked over the coach without meaning to. He had to do something to fix it. "I'll swear to whatever I have to. He didn't do anything wrong." 

"It's okay, Brian. Just try to calm down." 

"I am calm." 

"How did you get hurt?" 

Surprised, Brian turned to the cop reseated beside him. "Hurt?" 

"Yeah, the black eye and split lip?" 

Brian brought his hand to his face without thinking and then shrugged. "It's nothing. What's that got to do with Daniels?" 

"You didn't answer the question. Who hit you?" 

Weighing the make believe tale to the truth, Brian decided to go with something new. "I was messing around with a friend and got popped." 

"At school?" 

"No, at home. Michael and I were just boxing and he got a lucky punch in." 

"Michael?" 

"Michael Novotny. He's my best friend." 

"Your best friend gave you a black eye and a split lip?" 

Brian avoided the suspicious cop stare. "Yeah, well, he's good with his hands." 

"And he'd swear to this?" 

"Sure." Brian glanced up, his best liar's face in place. "What? You think I'd make up that Michael's a better fighter than I am?" 

"Maybe." 

"Why would I do that?" 

"Abused children say a lot of things to protect the abuser." 

The words stunned him, thinning the air to mere puffs. It took several deep breaths to gain his voice again. "I'm not abused. Can I go now?" 

Johnson stood up and handed Brian a card. "I want you to take this and if you change your mind, call me." 

"Change my mind about what?" 

"About telling me what really happened." 

"I told you what happened." 

"Maybe, maybe not." 

Brian repeated his question to James, his gut raw and his lungs tight. "Can I go now? I'm going to miss the bus." 

Principal James looked at Johnson and then nodded. "Yes, but we'd like you to keep what's been said here to yourself. We don't want rumors to spread." 

"I wouldn't do that. I like the coach." 

"Enough to lie to protect him?" Johnson's voice bit the air. 

"Whoever made that fucking phone call's the liar." Brian grabbed his gym bag and headed to the door. He paused, his hand on the knob. "Are you going to call my mom?" 

Johnson answered, his voice strained. "Not at the moment, but that could change if we get another call or if Coach Daniels tells a different story." 

"He won't, because there's nothing to tell." 

"I hope that's the truth, Brian." Mrs. Jacob's voice drew his attention, her face concerned. "I hope you know you can always come to us if you need to talk about anything." 

"Right." Like that would ever fucking happen. Opening the door, he headed out, wanting nothing more than to get to Mikey to warn him. Then he needed to track down that asshole Jackson and find out what the fuck happened. 

* * *

"This is a mess." 

"I fucking know that." Brian sat on the edge of Michael's bed, his whole body tense. He took another long pull at the vodka bottle, the burn of the alcohol a comfort. "They'll probably talk to you about it tomorrow." 

"What if they call my mom, or worse, your mom?" 

Standing, running an anxious hand through his hair, Brian stepped to the window and shook his head. "We just have to keep our stories straight, that's all. You popped me a good one and that's it." 

"My mom knows better than that." 

"Well, mine doesn't and your mom will believe it if we both swear." 

"I don't like lying to my mom, Brian. You know that." Michael paused, his face filled with concern. "Besides, maybe this is a good thing. Maybe you should tell them about your dad." 

Disgusted, Brian capped the vodka bottle and put it back in his bag. "They're not fucking interested in my dad. They want Daniels. Somehow they know he's a fag and now they want his ass and they're using me to do it." 

"But how could they find out? I mean, I didn't say anything. Who else knew about you and the coach?" 

Biting his lower lip, Brian turned away, his arms crossed tightly around his chest. "Daniels has a boyfriend. He knew." 

"A boyfriend?" 

"Yeah." 

Suspicious, Michael got up and moved closer, his hand gently touching Brian's arm. "How do you know that? What happened that you're not telling me?" 

Closing his eyes briefly, Brian kept his voice as even as he could considering he might shake apart any minute. "I went to see the coach last night, but he wasn't there. His boyfriend, Edward Jackson, was." 

"Did something happen to piss this guy off?" 

"Not exactly." 

"What exactly?" 

"We fucked." 

"What?" The breathy word stunned the air. 

"You heard me. We fucked. He was good looking and he wanted it." 

"Wanted it? You mean this stranger let you fuck him?" 

"Yeah, and it was good, too. He didn't have anything to bitch about." 

"Shit, Brian, what the fuck were you thinking? You don't even know this asshole. He's fucking around with you and he's supposed to be the coach's boyfriend? What if the coach found out?" 

"He didn't find out from me." 

Michael squeezed his arm and then shook his head in worry. "But if he found out, what would he do?" 

"I don't know." 

"What would you do if you found out your boyfriend got fucked by one of your students?" 

Brian studied his friend's grim face. He caressed his cheek and then sighed as he turned away to slump down on the edge of the bed. "This isn't my fault. I didn't mean for any of this shit to happen. I like the coach." 

"I know that, but you're right in the middle of it." 

"Fuck, Mikey, if my dad finds out, I'm truly and completely fucked." 

Sitting down beside him, Michael took his hand in his, the fingers laced together. "He won't find out." 

"How can you be so fucking sure?" 

"Because you're Brian Kinney. Nothing touches you, remember?" 

Snorting lightly, Brian smiled and shook his head wanting so much to draw on his friend's unwavering faith. "Oh, yeah, how could I forget that?" 

* * *

He fucking hated rumors. "Hey, Kinney, did you hear about the coach?" 

"Fuck off, Danzinger." 

"Seriously, he was arrested yesterday." 

Brian kept his face neutral. "No shit?" 

"No shit." Danzinger leaned in closer. "Seems he and his _boyfriend_ got in a huge fight and he got locked up." The young jock shook his head in disgust. "A fag. Can you fucking believe that?" 

His stomach clenched, Brian slammed his locker shut. "You're a damn liar. Where do you come up with this shit?" 

"I swear to god it was on the news last night. My mom called the school board when she saw it. She doesn't want some fag coaching the team." 

"Even if it's true, they can't fire him for just being a fag." 

"Just being a fag? Are you crazy? It's against the law to be a buttfucker, or maybe you think it's okay." The larger boy glared at him with rising suspicion. "Is that it, Kinney? You think it's okay to be a fucking faggot?" 

"I didn't say that. I just think the coach is cool, you know." Brian shifted his gym bag to his other hand. "Besides, he's not fucking the kids, so what the hell difference does it make?" 

"Faggot lover." 

"Get the fuck away from me, man." Brian shoved Danzinger out of the way, his fists balled, daring the other boy to challenge him. Instead, Danzinger stayed still, but his eyes remained fiery. As Brian walked away, he heard the curse at his back. "Cocksucker." He didn't bother to turn around, but headed to the exit. He had to see the coach and to hell with the school and all the shit that went with it. 

* * *

The bus stopped only a block away from the coach's house. Brian got off and walked the rest of the way, his mind racing through scripts of what to say. Reaching the driveway, he frowned as he saw the boarded up window and broken glass. He recognized the coach's car and swallowed hard before he continued. It took several tries to get anyone to answer the door. As it opened, he stared at his coach's battered face, the stitched cheekbone, the swollen jaw. "Brian, you shouldn't be here." 

"I know, but I had to see you." 

"You've seen me. Now go back to school before you get in trouble." 

"I can't do that. I need to talk." 

"Fuck. Haven't you done enough damage already?" Daniels paused and then took a deep breath before he opened the door wider. "You might as well come in then." 

As the door closed behind them, Brian put his bag down. "I swear to god, Coach, I never said anything." 

"I know that." 

"Was it Jackson?" 

Pain flickered through his eyes, the sharp stab of betrayal one that scarred the older man deeply. "He was pissed." 

"But why?" 

"I found the used condom and saw the blood. I knew he'd been with someone else. We got in a fight." 

"Over me?" 

"I didn't know it was you until he wanted to gut me. He knew how I felt about you, but he did it anyway. Bitch." 

"Shit. I'm sorry." 

"It's not your fault. You're a kid. He should've known better. Besides, he's a slut." Daniels ran his hand over the top of his close-cropped hair. "I don't know why I expected things to be different this time." 

"A cop came to the school." 

"I know." Daniels shrugged and crossed his arms. "I guess I should say thanks for covering. At least I won't have to go to prison as a pederast." 

"You're going to jail?" 

"No. Edward dropped the assault charges. I don't think the DA wants this to be more public than it already is." 

"What about your job?" 

"That's over." 

"That's not fair." 

"Fuck, Kinney, none of it's fair, but that's the way it is. You want to be gay, learn to live with it." 

"I never wanted to be gay." 

"Hell, me, neither." Daniels met his eyes, his face solemn. "You need to be careful, Brian. You just can't go around sucking cock and fucking strangers." 

"You're no stranger." 

"It doesn't matter. Fuck Novotny or some other kid. Don't put yourself at risk like you've been doing. You could get hurt, or worse, people will find out you're gay and you could get dead. It happens." 

Brian soaked up the words and locked them away, not really able to deal with the full impact yet. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice strained. "What's going to happen now?" 

"I've turned in my resignation. I can't stay here." 

"Where will you go?" 

"I've got a cousin in San Francisco. He's got a construction company I can work for." 

Frowning, his head pounding in alarm, Brian touched his arm. "You're not going to teach?" 

The older man cupped his face, his eyes meeting Brian's. "Those days are over." 

"But you were a great coach." The heat surged though his gut, his groin warm and waking as Brian captured Daniel's hand. "Don't leave." 

"I have to. This is my fault. Not yours." As Daniel's pulled away, he motioned to the door. "You should go." 

Suddenly angry, Brian argued. "You have to fight. This is fucking unfair." 

"I'm gay, Brian. Fair isn't part of the picture. Get used to it." 

"That's bullshit." 

"Is it? Look around and open your eyes. There are two worlds, gay and straight. We're outnumbered. You want to keep passing, you'd better be careful about the crusades you decide to wage. You can't win this one." 

"Not if you fucking give up." 

"There are two kinds of straight people, those who hate you to your face and those who hate you behind your back. They make it impossible to live here. It's time for me to move on and be with my own kind." 

"God, you're pathetic." 

Calm features tightened. "Not pathetic, just realistic. If you live long enough, you'll feel the same way. Now, get the fuck out of here. I've had about as much shit as I can handle for one day." 

Turning, Brian stepped to the door and stormed out, the screen slamming shut behind him. Shouldering his gym bag, he headed to the bus stop, anger welling up inside, wishing to hell he could do anything except just go home to a house he hated. Once on the bus, he decided to skip school completely and go to Michael's house. After all, he had a key and a fresh bottle of Jim Beam to make the long wait for his friend easier. 

* * *

Jerking off always calmed him, but for some reason Brian couldn't get off, not even when he thought of fucking Coach Daniels while he begged him not to stop. Sighing, he rolled over and sniffed the pillow. Michael. His friend's scent swelled his mind, warming him, making the terrible ache inside him almost bearable. Closing his eyes, he imagined a world with just the two of them, no hassles, no family, no fucking assholes like his father to make him feel like shit over and over. 

"Brian?" 

Opening his eyes, Brian smiled, the sweet lethargy from the booze humming through his veins. "Hey, Mikey. What's up?" 

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. Better than fine." 

"Good. Now I can kill you with a clear conscience. Where the fuck did you go? Everybody in the whole goddamn school was looking for you." 

"I'm right here." 

"You are now, but you weren't when I called earlier." 

"I didn't answer the phone." 

Michael sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand on Brian's hip. "All day?" 

"Well, most of the day." Brian rolled on his back and put his forearm over his eyes, the glare of the overhead light too bright and painful. 

Michael rubbed his face with both hands and then stood up, his voice strained with frustration. "That cop asked me about you today. I told him what you wanted, but I know he didn't believe me." 

"Fuck what he believes." 

"He wanted to know if I knew why you were cutting class." 

"And what'd you say?" 

"I said I figured you were sick or something." 

Uneasy, Brian sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He steadied himself and held his head. "Did he call my house?" 

"I think so." 

"Fuck." 

"You should call your mom. She's probably worried." 

"She's probably at mass begging god to tell her why she has a punk for a son." 

"That's not true." 

Brian lowered his hand to his jumpy stomach, the nausea catching him off guard. "I don't feel so good." 

"Shit." 

With Michael's help, he staggered to the bathroom, the retching bringing up everything he drank that afternoon and some things he hadn't. Between ragged heaves, Brian moaned and muttered fuck at every opportunity. 

By the time he finished, his whole body trembled. A cold cloth pressed against his forehead and then over his mouth. Strong arms guided him to his feet and back to the bedroom. Stretched out, a warm blanket covered him and he shifted to his side, his head spinning. "I feel like shit." 

"You look like shit." 

"Fuck you." 

Michael pulled a chair to the side of the bed and leaned in. "I heard about Daniels." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. I heard he quit because he got arrested." 

"He quit because they ran his fag ass out." 

"They can't do that." 

"They did." 

"Fuck." 

Both boys stayed quiet a few moments before Michael got up and crawled in behind him, his arm stretched over his waist. Spooned together, hugging him tenderly, his friend whispered. "I'm sorry." 

"Yeah, me, too." 

"It wasn't your fault." 

"Wasn't it?" 

"Even if it was, you didn't do it on purpose." 

Brian squeezed his eyes shut, drinking in the heat from his friend's body. "I'm tired, Mikey. I'm tired of all this shit." 

"I know." Petting Brian's hair, Michael nuzzled in closer, his chin resting on Brian's shoulder. "Go to sleep. My mom will be home in another hour and she can drive you home." 

"I don't want to go home." 

"I know, Brian, but you have to." 

"Fuck." 

"You can always come back here." 

"Promise?" 

"Promise." 

Brian captured Michael's hand and held it over his heart, the pledge of his best friend the only thing he knew as truth and the only thing he ever wanted. 

* * *

The end


End file.
